It Goes On
by Kilonji
Summary: The war is over. Isn't it time we all went back to living for a change?
1. Letting Go

_"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."_

Robert Frost

* * *

She takes care not to assume much of anything anymore. She's been wrong about too many things to trust her instinct when it comes to specific facts. About him, about herself.

About her brother's trust and her captain's faith, which shocked her into muteness when she was offered the position left empty for years after her mentor fell upon her sword. She was not ready and she was sure her brother felt the same way, but his face was impassive when she looked at him. She was expected to decide for herself. For once.

She accepted her vice captain's insignia and bowed as deeply as she could. So what if she was not ready? She would make herself fit into that space. Ukitake-taichou touched her head, ever so lightly, then cupped her chin affectionately. "I will not do this again," he said softly. "Do your work and find your peace. And do not die." Those last stopped her heart. A thousand sentiments compacted into four powerful words. She could only nod as the weight settled itself onto her shoulders. She was to be the last vice-captain Ukitake Juushirou would accept. The last.

With that responsibility accepted, she understood instantly that she would have to give up another.

The cleanup work in Karakura took far less time than anticipated, and she spent the dwindling days with that boy. But boy no longer. He was sixteen going on infinity, but he hid it all too well. Except from her. When she looked at him, she could see every wound on him inside and out; she observed the raw, open spaces in him with grief. She caused this. But reaching out to him now would do him no good.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the idea of keeping him had tried to blossom. But he was neither a puppy nor up for adoption. Kurosaki Isshin did not fight for the sake of Soul Society and no denizen of the place could lay claim to any of his precious offspring, not so soon. There was never a definite "no" from him. Always a joke and a smile, but things had changed. She was no longer his cute adopted daughter. She was something much deeper and maybe, to him, not entirely harmless.

She remembers too well seeing him in his tattered hakama, the remains of his clean white cape edged with blood. Even as those who had been trapped in Hueco Mundo were clawing their way toward the gate which had suddenly been opened, he had slashed his way through from the other side. Aizen had tried to seal it off, but something had interfered. She still does not know what. All she can be certain of, based on later reports, was that instead of the battle of Hueco Mundo spilling into Karakura, it was the other way around. The ones Aizen had harmed and forgotten rose to claim their revenge; Karakura was never even close to falling. And the victors were not merely satisfied with disemboweling a few espada. They wanted the head of Aizen Sousuke and would not be deterred. The arrival of Kurosaki Isshin on their heels was merely a happy side effect.

Hanatarou was at Rukia's side and had grimly attempted to pull her down as the gate shattered and the resulting release of energy passed over them but she had stood still, frozen by the force of reiatsu that rode it. The familiarity overwhelmed her. It was like. . . Ichigo. But she could sense Ichigo, from the opposite direction, his fear and frenzy mixed as he battled what felt like an espada. This was wholly different. And then there was that voice. "Ah, Rukia-chan, nice of you to meet Daddy here!"

She could only blink at him. Isshin scratched his scrub of a beard and winked. "I've run out of opponents over there. I hope you and your little friend have left me a few?" He winked at Hanatarou, who blanched.

"Kurosaki-san," she gasped unintentionally. "When?"

"Right now, Rukia-chan. And later." He didn't allow her to ask that crucial second question. He surged past her, hand grazing her shoulder as he moved forward. "Catch your breath and come along."

She could only obey.

She had long since known how lithe the old man was on his feet. But she hardly expected this. How could she not have known? How could he have been so well concealed? But there was no time to wonder. So she merely followed, letting her mind slide into a delicious kind of blankness as she watched Isshin tear through one hollow after another, doggedly following the faint spiritual scent of his son. What he did not thoroughly destroy she finished for him, though there tended to be precious little left of any hollow that feel under his blade.

So. Ichigo's massive power was no fluke. It was inherited. But there would be time to marvel over that later. Isshin the shinigami was suddenly Isshin the clumsy father again, this time tripping over the corpse of the Number Four espada. The body had been cleanly separated from the head and fallen, arms askew; blood still seeped from the dozens of wounds in various spots. The head was closer to Inoue and the shinigami substitute, the startled look on it implied emotion Ulquiorra had never been accused of possessing. But of course he was shocked. He'd been beaten by a kid who was little more than dead himself.

But not quite.

The shimmering light surrounding the limp form was instantly recognizable. Inoue-san's shoulders shook even if her hands were steady. Isshin stood still, scratching his head uncomfortably and giving Rukia the eye. Rukia started, then heaved a sigh. It was not that Isshin considered approaching a sobbing girl outside of his abilities. He simply preferred not to. Hence, his houseguest. Rukia edged close, laying a gentle hand around Inoue's shoulders. "Are you unhurt?"

Inoue stiffened, softened again. "Kurosaki-kun. . . won."

"Yes," Rukia murmured. "But are you hurt? Hanatarou is coming." She didn't know this for certain. She merely assumed the fourth division member had followed, but either way she knew he would tend to the girl. It would be a great help to him for her to ascertain if there was any major healing needed.

"I—I'm not hurt," Inoue said. "Kurosaki-kun protected me. He was worn out and bleeding but he would not let me come near him until he had—_they_ had—" She visibly shuddered.

Rukia's grip on her shoulder tightened. There was no telling what the child had been exposed to during her imprisonment here. It was best to let her focus on the current task and deal with the rest later. "How is he?"

"That thing inside him—I don't think I can unmake him."

"Inoue-san."

"The wounds Kurosaki-kun has—they would not have happened if that thing had not come out. And he's still here, clawing at Kurosaki-kun from the inside. He'll bleed to death inside. He'll die like this. And I can't do anything—"

Isshin shuffled his feet a little bit, his anxiety finally seeping through. So. Even this horrible thing about his son, the thing the boy had been struggling with and could still easily be defeated by, he knew it all. But was apparently as powerless as the rest of them to do anything about it.

"Inoue-san. It's not your fault." Rukia pulled at the girl's shoulder so she turned to face her. The wide doe eyes were predictably filled with tears.

"But he came for me."

"He came for me, too. You remember? You were with him. You could have been badly hurt but you took that risk, just as he did. He knows himself and he knows his limits, and he accepted the consequences, then and now. Just as you did. You don't need to take the blame for his decisions." Rukia's throat twitched at those words. Selfish thing, she thought to herself. Even now, unable to share the guilt. "We have to honor him for being brave enough to face it head on," Rukia continued hurriedly. "Let's heal him so we can take him home."

Inoue-san smiled, just a little bit, and turned back to her task. Rukia remained beside her, gazing at the orange head that did not move as the blood faded away and the body that did not twitch as the wounds slowly closed and disappeared. Even as Inoue-san finished and the calm voice of Yamamoto-suitaichou echoed over the empty spaces that Aizen Sousuke was dead, Ichigo slept.

The captains and the foot soldiers, save a few left to put down anything left smoldering in Hueco Mundo, had gone home. Rukia's own captain had pulled her aside at the gate, white hands nervously exploring her neck and head—he was not so far gone to let them wander lower with Yoruichi giving him a cool eye—looking for any wounds the fourth division had missed. It amazed and sobered her, but it did not surprise her. Her life was precious to him, even if only because Kaien had traded his own for it. But Ukitake's eyes were bright. "Word was that you had been badly wounded," he murmured. "Captured."

Rukia bowed. "That is true. I was not imprisoned for long and I met with Abarai-fukutaichou and Ishida-kun. We met Nii-sama just as he was arriving with Unohana-taichou and Zaraki-taichou."

"Yes," Ukitake said. There as a long pause, as if he wanted to ask more. But something, maybe the way she stood with her jaw unintentionally clenched, stopped him. "It is good to see you here. Is Kurosaki-kun awake yet?"

"Not yet. His father will be returning with him, Inoue-san, Sado-kun, and Ishida-kun to Karakura. May I accompany them?"

"You may. Please return to the compound by 1200 hours tomorrow. I wish to be debriefed," her captain said. Of course he did.

Rukia bowed. "Hai."

In the end, Kurosaki Isshin carried his son like a baby into his room and laid him on his bed. "Kon's in his body, and I sent him to watch out for Karin and Yuzu," he said, closing the door quietly. "They'll be back in a few hours. Come down with me and we'll talk." Rukia looked at the door. "He's not going anywhere and I know I have some questions to answer, right?" Isshin smiled at her grimly as he headed towards the stairs. Mutely, she followed him.

"Sit." Rukia obeyed, her eyes following his tall, muscled form. How had she never noticed this before?

"You were the one Kenpachi defeated, weren't you."

His shoulders shook as he chuckled. "I was gone long before he came, Rukia-chan. It's a long story and even I get sleepy telling it. That's all I'll give you for now, I'd just as soon explain all that to Ichigo and I don't feel like going over it twice. But I admit I knew about you before you gave my son your power."

"You felt me, of course."

He turned, leaving the pot on the stove and setting two cups on the table. "That, and Urahara mentioned that patrols were being stepped up due to increased hollow activity. We knew it was probably Ichigo and we were working hard to shield him. We didn't suspect he was that strong."

"How could you not have known?" She crossed her arms.

"I'm his father. I didn't want to believe it, can you accept that? Denial is something powerful once it really sets in. You know that better than anyone, don't you, Rukia-chan?" This last was barely a question. His expression changed in an instant, and she felt a thud in the back of her head.

"You never wanted to explain anything, did you."

"I do, but not right now. I wanted to talk to you before he wakes."

"Do you want me not to be here when it happens?"

Isshin rose as the teakettle began to whistle. "It's not that simple. I think you need to be here, for now. I know you have responsibilities and I would not try to interfere with that. But I know he won't be able to rest without knowing you are okay." He came back to the table and poured her tea. "You have options, you know."

"Such as?"

"Things have changed since Hirako and his crew were betrayed and abandoned. You can choose to stay here permanently. Become a human and stay with him."

"Why would I do that?"

"You love him, don't you?"

She felt her brow furrowing. "You just said you weren't going to interfere."

He shrugged. "I lied."

"Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"I do. And I've been thinking about it for a while. He may never be able to live as a normal human being. He may never be able to be with a normal human and not feel restless, seeing as he'll have to hide what he really is. You are the closest person to him, whether you'll admit it or not. I'm a selfish man when it comes to my children. He needs you now, and he'll continue to need you. But I want him to need you from here, not Soul Society. I won't allow any of my children to enter that place before their time." Isshin's face was serious.

She blinked at him. "What if I don't want to stay here?"

"Wean him from yourself, leave here, and stay away for a while. Give yourself and him time to adjust." His gaze was steady. "You don't have to decide right away. It's not only your choice. But remember that he is still a child in some ways. You're an adult. It might fall to you do do the right thing, even if it makes you a hated person. Are you prepared to do that, for his sake and yours?"

The words were on her lips before she knew she was thinking them. "Yes." This was how it needed to be. She would do that right thing. She already knew what it was. She would not fail, and she would not waver.

She would let the boy go.


	2. Transitional Phase

_"How nice--to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive."_

--Kurt Vonnegut, "Slaughterhouse Five"

* * *

When he opened his eyes, instead of the desolate plains and open sky of Hueco Mundo, he saw his own ceiling. He took a breath and closed his eyes, opened them again and felt his heart skip a little when he realized the view had not changed. He took another deep breath, felt his hands clutching his own soft comforter—they were still there!—and turned his head.

Inoue was sitting in his chair, peeling an orange. She was wearing a loose-fitting purple t-shirt that clashed horrendously with her hair, but her face and hands were clean and she was humming an upbeat sounding song, her eyes closed and head lightly bobbing to some inaudible beat. He was almost sorry to interrupt. "Inoue," he tried to say but it only came out in a hoarse whisper.

Her head snapped in his direction, lips parted and hazel eyes wide. And those eyes immediately began to glisten as the lips turned upward and bloomed into a wide, relieved smile. "Kurosaki-kun. Welcome back."

"Thanks," he rasped. "How did I—"

"Kuchiki-san and your dad brought you here," she beamed. "It's all over."

"The war?"

"Yes. Aizen is dead. You killed Ulquiorra yourself, remember? You saved me." She examined the orange and gently began pulling it apart.

"Who—"

"Urahara-san. I didn't actually see it though. I was busy," she said. Her voice shook just a little with this last as she stretched forward, a slice in her hand. "Would you like some?"

"You were too busy healing me, huh."

"Yes," she said, face crumpling a little as he waved off the slice. She rose, taking a small bite of her own, as if trying to prevent herself from speaking again. But as it always was with Inoue, she could never stop herself. Not completely. "I should get everyone. They'll be so glad you're awake." She backed out the room, bowing the whole way, before he could fling another question in her direction.

Ichigo heaved a sigh. It was not as if he expected to be left alone for very long. He was well aware of the mob of people, live and dead, who were concerned about his wellbeing. He could not blame Inoue for wanting to be the bearer of good news. But his father—his goat-faced dad had brought him back here, he'd been told. Had someone dumped him on the streets of Karakura to be found, after the nearly life-ending battle with a creature from another world? How were Chad and Ishida and Renji and Rukia? Did everyone survive? He was suddenly annoyed by the fact that his questions were not burning enough for him to hurl himself out of bed to go seek answers. What happened to his teenaged tenacity? But then he remembered. He was only a teenager in age. He'd never be young like that again. Never.

But he was okay enough with that concept to go back to sleep. The problem was, he could not stay there. Sure, he pretended when Yuzu would come up to cluck over him, or when Karin slipped in and raided his CD collection—and this was obviously not her first foray, either—but he was too restless to allow himself any more slumber. He passed a day and a half like this: eyes on the ceiling, or closed while he listened to the mp3 player his father had stealthily loaded and placed under his pillow for his fourteenth birthday. On the slower songs he could feel himself drift and that voice speaking his name. _Ichigo._ It had been a long time since he'd heard it; he thought it would be comforting. But it was not. He caught himself every time, he could feel himself slipping into a sideways place he was not ready to return to, not just yet. _Sorry old man_, he thought. _I don't feel like it_. It was strange. He had never felt this lazy before. But maybe it was not laziness at all. What was he supposed to be doing now, anyway?

Chad had only left a few hours ago. There was not a scratch on him. He said he had stayed close to Captain Unohana—at her request. He saw her cut Halibel to shreds, he said, but declined to impart any details. It was obvious he'd used up his daily allowance of words just getting past Ichigo's sisters. But for some reason, Chad's habit of quiet perturbed his best friend.

"It wouldn't kill you to describe it a little," Ichigo said.

Chad sat upright, brushing a lock of brown hair out of his right eye. It immediately slid back down over it. "She came at Unohana-taichou. Unohana taichou killed her. It was barely like swatting a fly, to her."

"Is that it?" Ichigo crossed his arms.

Chad blinked. "It's all that matters," he said. There was not a hint of irritation in his voice. Had it been Rukia or Renji or even Ishida, they'd be screaming at him by now. But Ichigo didn't want them to scream at him. He wanted Chad to do it.

And was disappointed. After a half hour of numb silence, Chad excused himself and Ichigo was alone with his strange new feelings. Chad never let himself get over emotional about anything. He had not changed at all, even after all this. _So why do I feel so different then?_

Even Rukia, when she finally showed up, did not betray any alteration. She seemed a shade paler and a little thinner, but other than that she was fine. "You should be headed downstairs already." These were her first words to him, and they hadn't seen each other in what felt like ages.

He scowled. "I'm recovering. Anyone who wants to see me can damn well come up here."

"I only came up," Rukia declared imperiously as she crossed the room and fluffed his pillows, "to tell you that even if you're some sort of hero, that does not excuse you from being considerate of other people. Inoue-san hadn't even _slept_ and she wouldn't leave until you were up. Didn't you see the circles under her eyes?" She was in front of him now, her hands on her diminutive hips. Her own eyes had circles under them too.

"Are you okay?" he asked. _Let her say she was hurt. Let her say she saw and did horrifying things, and we can stay close with our damaged selves_, he almost prayed. But no.

"I'm standing here, aren't I?" As if he had no right to ask. _So that's how it's going to be from here_, Ichigo thought. No wonder he didn't want to see the Old Man. The Old Man disliked being rained on, and it was probably pouring there now. Raining cats and dogs. Her eyes narrowed on him. "Don't give me that look. We do worry about you, so you just need to accept it."

She was either missing the point or dodging it. He did not care to figure out which. "When are you leaving?"

She rolled her eyes. "You won't be able to get rid of me that easily. The assignment has not ended yet. Renji and I will probably be coming back and forth for a while, and probably Ikkaku and Yumichika too. Hitsugaya won't, though. . ." she stopped short.

"What about Matsumoto?"

Rukia looked away. "She didn't make it."

Ichigo looked down at his hands, which were suddenly clenching the blanket. "Who—"

"Ichimaru Gin."

"Is he dead?"

There was a pause. "No. He escaped. He took a good hit from Matsumoto-fukutaichou, but no one found his body. He'll be found, believe me."

Ichigo blinked. "Maybe I could have—if I'd known?"

Her eyes found his. The violet in them was barely there. "Stop. You went to save Inoue and you accomplished that. Isn't it enough? You're one person, remember? You've done plenty, and I'm pretty sure she died with no regrets."

"If you know so much, why don't you tell me what I'm supposed to do now?"

Her lip curled. "Do you really need me to tell you that? You were your own man before you became a shinigami. That's _your_ call."

"Hm." He crossed his arms.

"In the meantime, why don't you get your ass up? Otherwise you might actually flunk out of school."

"I was planning on it, thank you," he snorted, throwing back the blankets.

She chuckled at him. "Nice underwear."

He threw a pillow at her. _Maybe it can be a good thing,_ he thought. _Some things just don't change._

Rukia was true to her word. There was precious little to do, really, but watch them as they made their rounds. It was daily at first. There were few hollows, and those who dared expose themselves were quickly and harshly dealt with. Ichigo never once drew his own sword. Rukia was focused, Ikkaku and Yumichika were looking for a fight, and Renji was strangely silent and watchful. Something was clearly bothering him, but he didn't speak of it and Ichigo did not ask.

It was Renji who dealt with the Vizards, with Urahara as a mediator. Their ban from Soul Society had been lifted, but few had been inclined to return. Risa and Kensei had gone at first, but had returned within days. They could not get comfortable, they said. They had seen and done too much during their exile. Going back to the lives they had lost, even if they had not considered it a possibility before, was now unfathomable. Hirako would not go back at all. Hiyori wouldn't discuss it. It was agreed that if they chose to remain in Karakura, the Gotei thirteen would be grateful to leave the town under their care.

Urahara didn't even pretend not to be shocked. Ichigo shrugged when Rukia delivered the news. The Shinigami Substitute had quietly been retired.

Yoruichi was in and out, apparently hunting Ichimaru Gin. This Ichigo learned from Renji, who pulled him aside after their visits to Karakura became weekly and Rukia did most of the hollow hunting when it was needed. The redhead had lowered his voice. "If he's found, Yoruichi would be kind just to kill him on the spot. Hitsugaya's still not in his right mind and Kuchiki-taichou might rip him to shreds on sight."

"Why?" Ichigo knew why Hitsugaya would want to kill Ichimaru Gin. But what did Byakuya have to do with it?

Renji blinked. "She hasn't told you anything?"

"Rukia?"

"No, the easter bunny. _Yes,_" he hissed, "_Rukia_. Ichimaru. . . while we were there after Inoue. . ." Ichigo stared at him. Something had happened to her in Hueco Mundo? With Ichimaru Gin, of all people? He could not listen to this. Whatever it was. His heart was leaping but he stomped on it. He was only one person, just a human teenager with his own life and responsibilities. He was back at school, planning to finish and head to college. He could not be pulled into anything, not now. He was also certain this was something Rukia did not want him to hear, so he was guiltily glad then Rukia interrupted the conversation.

"Hey!" Both men looked up. Rukia was already sheathing Shirayuki. "If you two are just going to chat, why don't you go downtown and get some cappuccino while I take care of everything?"

"Fine, fine, you little howler monkey," Ichigo said. It was already getting dark, anyway. "I guess I might as well head home." When he turned to go, Renji made to follow him.

"Renji we should head back, too," Rukia said, irritation plain in her voice.

Renji looked at her. His face was pained. "Yeah," he said. Ichigo could feel both sets of eyes on him as he walked away. Renji was about to receive a verbal smackdown. Ichigo chuckled to himself. That's what he got for trying to tell Rukia's secrets, anyway. If he knew anything, Ichigo knew Rukia did what she needed to do to make it so others did not worry about her. Whether he trusted her or not was a moot point. She would do what she wanted, and that was something that would never change. Even if he wanted it to. His rescuing days were over, for now. He was Kurosaki Ichigo, and he could be normal. He could even pretend, just for a moment, that he was never anything different.

But then, Ichigo's had father said something startling. "My son is very special."

Ichigo blinked at him.

"My son." Isshin smiled a little. It was late, and the girls had already gone to bed. Ichigo had taken the opportunity to plant himself in front of the television. He was flipping channels. There was nothing good on. And then the old man started babbling. _This could be bad_, Ichigo thought to himself as he searched his mind for something to shut him up with. But then he said something just as startling, but even more horrifying. "My strong, gallant, vizard son."

Ichigo could only stare at him.

"Can you imagine how I felt, bringing you home? My son. I thought, 'Now, _this_ is ironic.' The son of an exile becoming Soul Society's hero. I wonder whose karma it was. Mine, yours. . .or maybe Urahara's."

"So then you know everything." Ichigo's stomach clenched. The old man was on the couch, arm splayed across the back. He might as well have been watching a soccer game and giving a play-by-play. But instead he was talking about something of which he was supposed to be ignorant.

"Just enough," Isshin scratched his chin with one hand and his knee with the other. It was a surreal conversation topic, even for him. "I was proud of you before, but I was a little concerned. I didn't know how things would turn out. I knew I could never stop you, so I let you do what you wanted. I've been grateful you have good friends to support you. But I knew I couldn't hide from you forever. You felt me that night, didn't you. The night I killed the Grand Fisher."

Ichigo's tongue suddenly felt thick. The one hollow he had sworn to kill. . . "I couldn't even tell it was you. Hell, I couldn't even tell it was the Grand Fisher. You know so much, couldn't you tell I can't really recognize people by reiatsu?"

"You would have, sooner or later. You can always tell when Rukia-chan or Sado are around. It was only a matter of time."

"Are you saying if you thought I would never get to the point where I could tell it was you that you'd never have told me?" Ichigo wanted to throw something at him. He could not remember the last conversation with his father that did not involve his fists, and on top of that—

"How could I, knowing what you'd ask me?"

Ichigo gaped at him.

"If I had that power, all this time, how could I not have saved your mother?"

Ichigo blinked, slowly. That was not his father's guilt to take. It had been fading from him, he knew that; the responsibility for the death of Kurosaki Masaki belonged only with the monster who'd committed the crime. There was nothing he could have done in his nine-year-old form. But even knowing—no, simply being suddenly aware—of his father's true role in the matter. . . "You told me not to blame myself. I've tried not to. But just blaming you now—that's pointless. You're _Dad_. With or without power, you would have done something if you could." And, apparently, Isshin _had_ done something when he got the opportunity. Ichigo could not picture the Grand Fisher anymore than he could picture his father slaying it. _And it no longer matters,_ he thought. "I'm fine with everything, Pops."

"Is that how you feel?"

"It is." They regarded each other silently. Ichigo finally made an indelicate noise. "Aren't you going to tell me more?"

Isshin rubbed his temple. "Rukia-chan asked me the same thing."

"You told her?"

"I had to. I didn't find you laying in the street, you know."

"Okay, so you went to Hueco Mundo. What did you tell her?"

"That I wanted to wait and talk to you together." Then he smirked. "Lucky me, she never brought it up again."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "Figures. I guess it doesn't matter much then, does it."

"Honestly? Not really. I have no intention of going back or even coming out of this gigai again for a very, very long time."

They stared at each other again, this time with a strange understanding between them. Ichigo rose. "I'll forget you mentioned it," he yawned as he rose.

"If you like it that way, I love it," his father's voice sailed out after him as he headed upstairs. Thus ended Isshin's active parenting session for the night. _Some things never do change_, Ichigo thought to himself as he nodded off. _I can learn to live with that. I _have_ to._


	3. Things Beyond Our Control

All change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.  
Ellen Glasgow

* * *

It was April again before anyone knew it, and then summer again. Had it been up to Orihime, the spring would have lasted forever. But this was something out of her control. She was another year older, a shade taller. _Perhaps_, she thought, _perhaps now I'll be something worth looking at without pity or patronization._

This thought was bolstered by the scratching at her window once in a while over the winter. Whenever she heard it, she would smile despite herself and scramble to let her visitor in.

Kuchiki-san always hugged her. It had been strange, ever since the first time it happened. It had been an act of comfort, of a kindness born of a a need that Orihime sensed was not entirely different from her own. Over Kurosaki-kun's unconscious but thankfully still-living body, Kuchiki-san had reached for her, held her in an embrace tight enough to make her blush. In that moment Orihime felt her bones suffused with bolstering, calming camaraderie. Kuchiki-san did not need to say it aloud. Y_ou lean against me, and I'll lean against you. Just for a little while. Maybe forever._

Which was why, Orihime understood, it would be okay to lose Kurosaki-kun to her. Kuchiki-san took care of the people close to her. She would take good care of Kurosaki-kun.

Only she didn't.

On those winter nights Kuchiki-san never made any excuses about her presence. "You're not out with your friends, Orihime-san. You can't be alone all the time, it's not good for you." Her tone was never as critical as her words.

"Ah, but I like my time alone," Orihime would half-lie. "I talk to Sora-oniichan and make myself good food."

Kuchiki-san would smile at her a little, settling into a chair as Orihime made a mess of her kitchen. Kuchiki-san would only accept hot cocoa, and even though Orihime preferred tea now, she always kept it in her cupboards. She would bring Kuchiki-san a steaming cup and watch, enraptured, as Kuchiki-san's rosebud lips would turn upwards in a tiny smile after a tiny drink or two. After a moment of silence, the shinigami would always ask after Orihime's studies. "You're very bright. It should not go to waste."

And Orihime would blush. "Oh, not really," she'd say, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "Not like Ishida-kun or Sado-kun. I just remember things easily, that's all."

Kuchiki-san would shake her head and chuckle, but she would never push. And they would chat, in much the same way Orihime would chat with Tatsuki-chan. And always, as if on cue, Orihime would ask how Kuchiki-san was feeling.

She had not thought much of it while she healed them, several deep cuts on her arms and legs, a gash on her back, a nick on her forehead. She supposed, at the time, Kuchiki-san must be a formidable fighter indeed, to have come through the Battle of Hueco Mundo with so few, minor wounds. But as word filtered back to her, Orihime put the pieces together. She knew now what happened to every one of her friends since they entered Hueco Mundo. And they all had been badly injured at one point or another.

Even in ways that did not show outwardly.

Orihime understood that Kuchiki-san did not want to discuss it. She also understood that not everyone had realized what had befallen her when she was alone. But the rest were men. How could they possibly grasp the depth of Kuchiki-san's situation? As a fellow female, Orihime prepared herself to be the comforting arms Kuchiki-san would reach for when they were needed. But she never did, skillfully evading any attempts at broaching the subject. So Orihime let herself forget, to push her worry aside as Kuchiki-san did what she did best: Make herself scarce as not to worry or inconvenience anyone else.

In April, Kuchiki-san hugged Orihime again and told her she would not be coming back for a while, and could she keep an eye on those boys? Orihime could only smile and tell her she would.

Had it been up to her, she would have kept that promise.

Springtime, she learned all too quickly, is for lovers.

And for new things. New school year, new books and fresh new book bags with kittens on them. Tatsuki laughed at this new treasure. "You always buy the most random stuff when I don't shop with you."

Orihime giggled. "I doubt you could have stopped me. I saw it and had to have it."

"Well it's nice and girly in that way you like," Mahana said, sidling up beside Orihime and settling into her desk. "Too bad it's not pink."

Orihime started to respond when Ishida-kun sat stiffly in the desk on the other side of her. He peered up at her quizzically. "Good morning, Inoue-san," he said. How long had it been since she'd seen him last? His hair was longer, falling in jetty locks over his eyes. His jaw still had its determined set and his long white fingers tapped lightly on his notebook, which he was already examining intensely. He obviously neither expected nor desired a response from her. Orihime smiled at him nonetheless.

Sado-kun and Kurosaki-kun were the last to shuffle in, both silent—one broodingly, the other placidly. Neither of them had really changed that much, even after all this. As roll was called out, it seemed almost like old times.

Until the teacher decided to shake things up. "So, who shall we have serve as this year's class reps?"

Of course, as usual, there were no volunteers. So she took it upon herself to decide. "Kunieda, Kurosaki. You'll both do."

Kunieda-san scowled. "Hai."

Kurosaki-kun blinked. And then boiled over. "Why _me_?"

A ripple of snickers rounded the classroom but the teacher had already turned to the board. "A little responsibility might help with your little truancy problem, Kurosaki."

Ichigo gaped at her for just a moment before realizing all eyes in the class were on him. Then he slumped in his seat. Goddamn it, she was right. "Hai," he said. Rukia was going to laugh her ass off when she heard _this_ one.

Only she didn't. Two weeks after the dubious assignment, she came alone to see him. "Renji accompanied Hisagi-taichou to visit Kensei," she explained when Ichigo opened his mouth to question the absence of her shadow. "They'll be smashed by the time we head back, though." This last statement, though rueful, was delivered with a smirk.

"Huh," Ichigo commented. "Always a party out there I'm not invited to."

Rukia had already settled cross-legged on the floor. "If you're so offended, go crash it. I'm sure Hiyori will be just _thrilled_ to see you."

"No thank you. I've had enough psychotic bitches to deal with in one day," he snorted.

"How's that? I just saw Inoue and she's just fine."

"So she didn't tell you about my new rank as class rep? Paired with the coldest female on the planet?"

"She mentioned Kunieda-san, and I hardly see where you'd call her cold. She's a little aloof, but she's never been rude to me."

"Probably because you don't have a penis," Ichigo said. "I seriously think she's some kind of man-hating lesbian or something, she always gives me dirty looks."

Rukia let out an exasperated sigh. "Did you ever ask her why?"

"What would be the point in _that_?"

"Ichigo, you'd think you could be mature enough handle it better than that," she chided. "Kunieda-san is a serious student. To her, you're a truant and a thug."

"Is it _my_ fault she doesn't know me?" Ichigo fumed. "Why are you taking her side?"

"I'm _not_. I'm just saying I can see why she'd think that. Why is it so hard for you to be amiable?"

"Amiable?"

"You know. Like a seventeen-year-old. A normal one."

"You have things mixed up here." He could smell the wheels spinning out of control in her brain. There was no jealousy here, not even a whiff of envy. Rukia had chosen to play the teasing older sister.

"Well, she _is_ really pretty," she added slyly.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "Hey. Kunieda's not my type." Nevermind the slender legs and the sexy mole under her right eye. And nevermind the wilting flower in the back of his head that might have represented the tiniest of crushes on the woman who saved his life. _You never did see me like that, did you,_ he thought. _Never would._

Rukia threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Forget I ever suggested it," she said with a broad smile. "Anyway, I just wanted to check in on you. I might not be back for a while."

Ichigo's mind snapped from hazy, shifting images of two dark-haired girls—one short and one tall—into focus. "For how long?"

"I've been reassigned as Ukitake-taichou's assistant, for now. Renji will be coming back from time to time to help Hirako-san so don't think if you do anything shady it won't get back to me."

"Shady as in how?" Ichigo scratched his head.

"Don't neglect your studies anymore. Finish school and become a productive member of human society. We'll deal with the hollows from here on out."

"Why does it feel like you prepared this speech?" he asked.

"Because I did," she said simply.

"You act like you're never going to see me again."

Rukia made an indelicate noise. "It might actually feel that way, for a while,"she said, rubbing her neck. "I don't know when it'll be. Months, years maybe."

His heart did not stop from the news, as evidenced by the narrowed eyes and the resumed scowl. "Is that all, then?"

Her head snapped up. "Would it feel better if I picked a fight and you stopped _wanting_ to see me?"

He stared at her. _In fact,_ he thought, _it would_. "No," he murmured.

She rose slowly and stepped to him. "I'm going to hug you now." He could barely feel her arms encircling his waist. She laid her head on his chest. "Thank you."

He sniffed a little as his own arms came to a rest on her shoulders. He could not think of a response until after she was long gone. _Take care of yourself, Rukia_, he thought at his ceiling before drifting off to sleep. He had no control over that, though. She was going to work herself petty hard and he knew it. He wouldn't be alone in the missing someone thing.

Had it been up to her, she would have simply worked. Nothing else. There was plenty to do, both in Karakura and in Sereitei, and it could have kept her occupied for weeks. Months even. Once responsibility for Karakura had been ceded to the Vaizards and all active shinigami were recalled for reassignment within Soul Society, she said her goodbyes to Ichigo and his friends—her friends—and followed Renji through the open gate, already focused on what task she could assign herself once they got home. She knew she could rely on her captain to give her her freedom, Ukitake had been determined since the end of the war to help her rise in the ranks. He'd told her it was long overdue and he would do anything to assist her in attaining the rank that was rightfully hers. Rightfully.

So when she could no longer dodge her brother, her irritation with him could not be suppressed. And she had no intention of even trying.

All the lavish food in the world could not wipe the surliness from her expression.

But her brother, the preternatural glacier that he was, would not patronize her. Not even with an apology. And certainly not with any respect for her privacy.

"How long," he asked as they sat in silence before her sister's shrine, "do you intend to keep up this facade?"

Rukia sighed.

After several minutes of silence, her brother sighed as well. "Do you believe you are more obstinate than I am? Surely you must know me better than that."

Rukia shook her head. "It has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me. I held you back, I forced you into a place too small for you. Then I released you into the open world and trusted your stunted skills would be enough to shield you from the cold. Perhaps I thought you were luckier than you actually are."

"It's amusing to hear someone like you speak of luck," she said.

"I do not know any other way to frame it. The horror of it is still too fresh. I am finding it difficult to think when it concerns you."

"Horror," Rukia echoed.

"There is no more fitting name for it. Unohana-taichou has told only me. Even with no marks on you—and you were clever, to have Inoue-san try to cover it—she could tell what had really happened to you. And yet here you are, so very calm. Abarai is half mad with worry. He must be able to smell it on you."

"Renji, at least, isn't being pushy about it."

"He fears driving you away."

"And you don't have such a fear."

"No," Byakuya said slowly, "I do not. There is no place you can hide from me for very long. You can run to Ukitake, or back to Karakura, and I'll come for you. Never doubt that." He was silent for a while, and her skin began to crawl. _Not long now, and he will ask_, she thought.

"Aizen and Tousen are dead. When Ichimaru is found, he will die as well." He turned his face and gray eyes pierced her. "Although I hardly call that justice, to merely put a rapist to death. Had he killed you, he could not have maimed you any worse."

That was the first and last time he—anyone—said those words to her. It amazed her, strangely, that it was better coming from him than she could imagine it coming from anyone else. "Nii-sama." She could not find any other words. "Nii-sama."

His hand grazed her shoulder. "It is not something I would force you to recount to me. You have been silent all this time. I have never believed you to be weak. All I ask is that if you feel the need, you consider leaning on me."

Had it been up to her, she would never have wept in her brother's presence. But it was not, and she did.


End file.
